To read, or not to read, that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler for the mind to suffer The shame and adverts of outrageous TV, Or to take aim at a computer game army, And by distraction end the boredom? To die, to read - No more - and by reading we feel The heartache and the thousand twisty shocks That books are made of: 'tis an experience Devoutly to be wished. To read, to sleep: To sleep, perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub, For in that post-novel daze what dreams may come When we have turned the last page Must give us pause: there's the text That gives us different perspectives on life. Battles lost and won, pride and community, The pangs of unrequited love, the urban fantasy, The psychological thriller and the horror That keeps you awake all night When a sensible person should be quiet In mind and body? Who would chapters bear, To laugh and cry by an author's skill, But that the dread of having nothing to read, At home or work or school but especially When travelling, makes us anxious, And makes us rather bear the worst novels Than do other activities we'd rather avoid? Thus books have power over us all: And thus the things we should be doing Get cast aside by bookish thoughts And enterprises such as housework and socialising With this regard are kept away Because our lives are quests for fiction.
By William Shakespeare and N S Ford.
If you’re really keen, you can look up Hamlet’s original soliloquy (Act 3 Scene 1). Which version do you prefer?!